


Five Hundred Years Gone

by peja



Category: Being Human, Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-25
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peja/pseuds/peja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another post CoE fic. Ianto survives, but he has changed in the last 500 years without Jack. Can Jack and Ianto reclaim what they once had?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Hundred Years Gone

Five Hundred Years Gone  
by PEJA  
Fandom: Torchwood/Being Human  
Universe: Phoenix Fire - This is an Open Universe, so write me a story back in this one  
Genre: slash  
Characters/Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Mitchell/George  
Portrayed by John Barrowman/Gareth David-Lloyd,  
Rating: FRM  
Summary: Another post CoE fic. Ianto survives, but he has changed in the last 500 years without Jack. Can Jack and Ianto reclaim what they once had?  
Warning: angst, AU  
First a shout out thank you to all the kind folks who helped me out with Ianto's age. You're all great.  
General thanks to all of you folks who are requesting short fics and improvs in the various fandoms. You're keeping the words flowing.  
Comm/List Written for: http://community.livejournal.com/cardiff_tales  
Permission to archive to WWOMB: Y  
Author's websites:  
ttp://peja.dreamwidth.org  
http://peja.insanejournal.com  
http://peja1956.livejournal.com  
http://www.squidge.org/peja/cgi-bin/viewuser.php?uid=1  
Disclaimer. Dr Who and Torchwood do not belong to me. no money made in this  
Acknowledgments/Notes: The Idea of Ianto being resurected because of the virus he was infected with intrigued me. The rest is just cuz I like dark themes and creatures of the night.

 

London  
The day after the 456 are defeated

In an attempt to calm the tensions of an angry population, the surviving government officials secretly covered up the real cause of so many deaths and decreed the bodies of the victims in Thames House bequarantined and secretly autopsied before they were cremated.

Unwisely, they also refused to allow Jack's daughter, Alice, to claim Stephen's body, citing family history and the method of his passing as the reason. Which easily translated into they wanted to dissect and study the body of an innocent boy who had already given his life without his consent in hopes of discovering what might lead to the question of Jack's immortality.

When Jack learned of this final outrage against his family, his fury knew no end. Tight-fisted, he stalked into Thames House, violently shrugging off anyone who tried to stop his progress through the government halls and his voice low and sharp spoken through drawn lips, demanded to see the Prime Minister.

Jack wasn't fooled by the nervous "He's out for the day," from the prim, middle-aged receptionist. He simply narrowed his blue eyes slightly and smiled a dangerous smile before pushing past her. He burst into the Prime Minister's offices, coat tails flopping like a comic book version of a heroic vigilante.

The ill-fated politician quickly discovered just how dangerous a man Jack really was when pushed.

He had been the picture of serenity, lips curved in a mock smile that never quite reached his narrowed eyes. In soft, almost melodic tones, smiling the smile of a angel from heaven, he described unimagined horrors he would inflict on the man before him, hinted that Torchwood's arsenals held things that made God tremble as he added, "You see, I am a patient man with nothing left to lose." He grinned then, making it quite clear that he would have no qualms about using these weapons on those who had dared oppose his desires.

If he had raised his voice, perhaps the pallid politician would have attempted to bluster his way around the man towering over him for all the world like some great avenging angel, but Jack Harkness' quite spoken words and eyes ablaze with the very fires of hell had the man sweating a tsunami.

Jack's dead were released to him with haste. Along with a vehicle to transport the bodies wherever he wanted.

Jack was no fool. He took careful pains to check the SUV for bugs and GPS, removing any he found, then setting up a perception device that intercepted and blocked any unfound transmission devices. He would take no chances of his kin being recovered by those he now considered his enemy.

On the endless drive back to Cardiff, Jack's thoughts focused on the bodies in the back of his SUV.

First on Ianto.

His precious Ianto.

Lost to him forever.

And he had only himself to blame.

His own arrogance. His carelessness.

His fault.

In his vanity he had ignored the fragility of human life. Forgotten that men died so easily. Like delicate sugar-spun figurines, crumbled with a careless flick of a finger.

And Stephen.

He had sacrificed his grandson for the ten percent.

The children had not been worth the loss. Not worth Stephen's precious life. If only he had thought it out, realized the end result....But he'd not seen the cost in the heat of the moment and now he was alone.

Alone.

Twice damned by the very God that had damned him with immortality.

Soulless.

God forgive him.

For Jack never would forgive himself.

Or Alice, for that matter. Why should she?

He, himself, had judged his actions and found himself responsible for too many deaths. Judge, Jury. Executioner. He imprisoned his grief inside his mind, never releasing it. Thedagger thrust of loss was his ever-lasting punishment. He would not allow himself the luxury of grief. He would not allow even one single tear, not one blessed morsel of internal forgiveness. Oh, no, not him. He would bear his guilt through eternity.

But first he had to get his precious cargo back to where they would rest in tranquility.

Drowning in his never-ending guilt, his eternal grief, Jack drove onward. Always onward, with only one goal in mind. Only one end in sight.

He had to get them home.

 

Several hours later  
Cardiff  
In the deep bowels of Torchwood 3

Home.

A place of peace.

A place of safety.

So long ago.

Only five days gone.

He shuddered.

Once upon a time in a land far away....

Five days gone, his soul ripped asunder from the inside.

His piece of mind assassinated.

His body bled agony like none other.

His silent screams echoed in his ears.

He was dead.

He was undead.

Alive.

Unalive.

Still he survived.

He always survived.

No matter how much he prayed he wouldn't.

And surviving, Jack had done the only thing he had left in this life to do. He brought his kin home.

Home to the Hub. Home to the only place he knew his loved ones would be allowed to rest in peace. A peace they deserved more than any other living soul on this inhuman planet.

Jack had known that the Hub would survive the assassin's bomb. In the last seconds, waiting for the bomb inside him to pulverize his being, he'd activated the protective seals and perception filters and cutting of the central hub from the rest of the complex. He knew from past experience the safe guards could easily withstand the force of a simple explosion. The Hub had been built to stand firm under alien attack using alien artifacts and his own 25th century science. The enhanced perception filters could easily hide the inner corridors and vaults that spiraled out from the central hub, concealing them from prying government thieves out to plunder Torchwood's resources. Any snooping officials who took the destruction of this base of operation as an opportunity to infiltrate Torchwood security would be doomed to disappointment. Their attempts of theft would go no farther than that unsecured section of the complex where he'd died that last horrific death.

Died in a kaleidoscope of searing, unfathomable horror.

And maybe, just maybe, he uttered a prayer that this time he would receive the blessing of a final death.

Breaking away from his silent contemplations, Jack eased the SUV through the concealed entrance that led onto the Torchwood wharfs and parked. For a long moment he just sat there, staring out into the dimly lit tunnels with his fingers curled so tightly around the wheel that they lost all circulation.

Memories of his disintegrating death swept over him and Jack shuddered, wrapping his arms around his waist as he re-lived the searing heat, the unspeakable sensation of his bodyexploding i nto a wet mist of pink. Once more he tasted the morbid ecstasy of doubt and wonder. Once more he knew the horror of feeling his body dissolving, scattering in a fiery ball.

Caught up in the horror of the euphoric nightmare spinning out in his head, Jack scrambled out of he SUB and fell to his knees, vomiting up an empty stomach until his ribs ached and his head throbbed. Exhausted by the memories, the emotions cascading through his mind, he rolled onto his side in a fetal ball and closed his eyes, rocking himself in an attempt the calm the terrors that assailed him.

Jack lost track of time as he lie there. He could have laid on the cold, graying boards for mere moments or it could have been hours. He neither knew or cared. The memories held him in a tight hold.

He came back to himself only when the cold damp seeped deep into his bones, demanding he get up, finish what he had come to do.

He staggered clumsily to his feet. On unsteady legs, he made his way to the boathouse he'd shown Ian months ago and grabbed a waiting trolley, steering it toward the waiting SVU with grim determination.

His hand trembled as he wrenched open the SUV doors. The vision of those two heavy duty black scrim PVC body bags slapped him in the face. An insult to the lives so recently lost. What they represented careened past his tightly restrained emotions, diving deep and brutal into the center of his gut.

Lips pressed into a tight line as he grabbed one webbing handle and pulling the bag containing Stephen's body closer. For a moment he stared at the bleak package, then with a curt nod and a grim "Man up, Harkness.", he quickly pulled open the zip and peeled back the edges. His gaze roamed the angelic perfection of his grandson's features.

Grimly, he lifted Stephen's body from the bag. The boy was so light in his arms. Jack laid his precious burden tenderly on the trolley. His hands lingered a moment and his throat tightened. Gritting his teeth against the howl that warred against its captivity, he drew back fisted hands.

He turned back to the SUV, bundling the body bag and stuffing it into the far back of the SUV before he freed Ianto's body from its morbid wrap. A whimper sounded in his ears as Ianto's head tumbled onto his shoulder. "My precious boy." slipped from his lips. "Please, God, I don't want to be alone."

Only the silence of the grave spoke back to him as he laid Ianto's body next to the boy's.

Jack's legs trembled under him, threatening to bring him down. He leaned heavily on the trolley push bar, breathing deeply until the weakness passed. He had done this. This death was his to bear. No mercy, Jack Harkness. Claim your work.

He nodded in response to his internal judge. His fault. His.

He drew a deep breath and began to push the trolley deeper into Torchwood.

This deep in the bowels of the complex, his footsteps echoed in the abandoned corridors, the sharp click click click of heel to flooring accompanied by theoccasional scrunch scrunch scrunch of glass crushing under his firm step.

His bleek gaze never strayed from the corridor ahead. His only thought was on the next step. The next turn. He would not allow himself to reflect on the man and boy lying on the trolley. If he did, he feared he would never move again.

His robotic steps lead him to the unlit morgue, then wavered, slowing to a stop. His diamond bight glance swept the darkness and he swallowed through the tightness lodged in his throat. "Oh, God," he croaked, wrapping his mind around the reality of what he was doing. "Oh, my God..."

Grinding his teeth, he moved to a computer console and activated the inner workings that had gone into sleep mode with the locking down of the central hub. He spent a moment running a quick overview of the complex, checking the cells and dark storage corridors, making sure all the automated systems were up and running. Once he walked out of the Hub, the automated system alone would govern the working sections of the base. Would keep Ianto's body from its natural progression to dust.

Jack could not accept that final natural life's blow. Would not accept Ianto's beauty lost forever in death.

The lights suddenly came up, along with the soft usual background hum. His fingers flew over the keyboard. The soft hum gathered speed and a morgue bed slid out from the wall.

Jack crossed to the trolley and lifted Stephen into his arms then carried him to the gently glowing slab. He laid the body down, combing through his blond hair with shaking fingers. "I am so very sorry, Stephen." He leaned over, pressing a kiss to the boy's cool forehead. "So very sorry."

From the head of the morgue bed, he punched several buttons and the lid slowly slid closed. He punched several more buttons, activating the stasis field, sealing Stephen in a deep state of suspended animation.

Jack opened a second bed and retraced his steps to the trolley, gently gathering Ianto into his arms and carrying his lover's body to the waiting crypt. His hands lingered, reluctant to release the beautiful husk that had housed Ianto's spirit. "I won[t forget you, Angel." he promised once more. "Not ever."

He kissed Ianto's cold lips one last time, then sealed his body into its eternal place of rest.

Jack didn't know how long he stared at the closed portal. Time stood still inside him.

 

Bristol  
The anniversary of Ianto's death

It began as a niggling feeling that something was wrong at the base of Mitchell's skull. An itch inside his primal brain that refused to be soothed by common sense. Words slowly formed out of thatpersistent itch, first soft, almost soundless, but growing in intensity until the words formed screaming red strobes of color reeking of old blood and tasting of nightmares.

Jack....

Jack, are you there?

Jack!

The voice grew more and more desperate, slamming into Mitchell's conscious with the impact of a jackhammer rattling his teeth.

Jack!

Jack?

Where are you?

The words rose to a terror that surged through Mitchell, infecting him. And just as quickly surged to a black, bleak loneliness.

Jack....

Oh, God...You promised....

Don't... forget... me..."

The pain in that voice cut deep inside Mitchell, tearing him up. He slumped against the hospital wall, crumbing slowly down the stark white surface and let the tears fall.

George was just rounding the corner as Mitchell finished his heart-broken descent. "Mitchell?"

Mitchell covered his ears with fisted hands, screwing his eyes shut and moaning softly as he rocked from side to side.

George was at his side instantly, grasping his forearms and speaking his name softly. Urgently.

"Am I dead?" Whispered in Mitchell's head, and he whispered back, "It's all right. Don't be afraid."

"Jack....?"

"You're not Jack...." worried the voice in his head. "Jack, where are you?"

"Not here." Mitchell soothed the voice. "Im Mitchell. Can you hear me?"

"Not...here?" Mitchell felt a stronger rush of tears sweep over him. "Oh, God, don't forget me.... You promised, Jack. You promised..."

"Come back for me."

"Jack...Please...I don't want to be...alone..."

"Where are you?" Mitchell sent back. "Tell me how to find you."

"Can't..."

"Don't be afraid. I can help."

"No one can help. I ...died."

"Yes, I know." Mitchell assured the voice in his head, knowing without doubt that he communicated with a new born of his own species. "Tell me where to find you. I can teach you our ways."

"What....What year is this?"

Mitchell hesitated "2010."

The voice in his head's breath hitched. "It's so dark. And cold. So very cold."

"Tell me so I can come to you."

"Torchwood." A bitter laugh whispered through their silent communication. "Bloody Torchwood."

"I don't understand..."

"Wales. Cardiff. Torchwood."

Mitchell unscrunched his dark eyes, staring deep into George's gaze. "I have to go to Cardiff," he whispered.

"What?" George croaked. "No....I...I mean...Why?"

Mitchell stumbled to his feet, "I have to go..."

"But..." George followed him up, hustling after his best friend and lover. "Mitchell, this is...crazy."

Mitchell rounded on him, his eyes narrowed. "I have to go.... Now."

"Yeah, okay..." George hurled at his quick moving back."But.... Not without me, you're not." Mumbling that this was the stupidest thing they'd done since he'd taken on Eric, he scurried after Mitchell, struggling to keep up with the vampire he adored beyond his own life.

 

Cardiff  
Several hours later

On the trip from Bristol, Mitchell had withdrawn into himself, barely responding to either George or Annie's bombardment of questions and whispered fears.

George was still muttering about how insane this whole sudden trip was as Mitchell directed them through Cardiff traffic to a wharf on the Bay with a series of guttural grunts and finger pointing.

"A tourist center?" Annie asked, staring at the tiny office. "We drove allthis way to visit a tourist center?"

Mitchell hurled a scowl her way. "The new born is close." He slid out of the car and walked quickly to the building, pushing inside with George and Annie hot on his heels.

A dark haired woman looked up from the computer screen she'd been scanning on the reception desk. Her dark eyes ghosted over them, sizing them up and finding them harmless. "Can I help you?"

"Gwen Cooper?" Mitchell asked softly, approaching the desk on silent feet.

"Williams," she corrected. Her glance roamed over his face more carefully this time, and he body coiled for any trouble he might be bringing in with him. "Do I know you?"

"I'm looking for...." He tipped his head, listening to the voice inside his head. "For Captain Harkness. Jack Harkness."

Gwen's dark eyes narrowed, flicking toward the two with him. "Captain Harkness is not here."

He nodded, listening again, then said. "I'll wait."

"Could be a long wait," a blond child walked in from the back room. "Granda hasn't been here for about six months."

"Stephen, go back inside." Gwen said, knowing the boy wouldn't obey. He had too much of Jack in him to listen to anything he didn't want to. She heaved a silent sigh and turned back to the three strangers. "I'm afraid you made a wasted trip. Jack has left the...country."

"Ianto Jones," the name erupted from Mitchell's lips. "I am here about Ianto Jones."

Gwen's brows furrowed in remembered pain. "Ianto died a year ago."

"Not so much" George grumbled, earning himself a sharp glare from Gwen and a dark glower from Mitchell.

"Please," Annie stepped forward, her hands reaching out imploringly to Gwen. "We would like to see Mr Jones' grave. Our friend," she turned her head toward Mitchell, a silent plea in her eyes. "Mitchell needs to see where your friend is buried." She offered a tiny, wavering smile. "It's important.

Gwen shook her head, "I don't think..."

"Please..." Mitchel's eyes seemed almost to glow, capturing Gwen's dark gaze. "You do want to take us to see the grave, don't you?"

Gwen's body relaxed visibly as she paraphrased, "I'd love to take you to see Ianto's body." She moved to the secret entrance to the Torchwood complex, accessing the codes and pushing the door open. "Please follow me quickly."

"Aunt Gwen...?"

"Watch the front, Stephen," Gwen told him as the three strangers passed into the inner workings of Torchwood.

As the door closed behind them, George crinkled his nose against the vauge smell of damp and mildew permeating the dark corridor. "Could stand a good bleaching here, couldn't it?"

"Someone died here." Mitchell's eyes seemed to glow darkly. "Ianto?"

Gwen shook her head, "Jack."

"thought you said he left the country?" Annie commented.

"He did. Jack doesn't like to stay dead very long."

"Happens more than you would think, that." George assured her glumly.

"You would never believe it." Gwen clamped her hand over her mouth. "Why am I telling you these things."

Annie sighed, "Mitchell can be quite...compelling."

Gwen's gaze roamed over the tall rugged featured man, reassessing her opinion of him, seeing the cloaked predator beneath his safe facade. "What are you?"

"The same as your Ianto, it would seem." Mitchell growled. "I would like to see..."

"His grave, yes. I know. This way, please."

 

The Crypt

"Ianto's here."

Mitchell scanned the stark white chamber. "How many bodies are entombed here?"

"I would have to look that up."

Shaking his head, Mitchell asked, "Show me his ...body."

Gwen hesitated, a confused frown tugging at her brow.

Mitchell closed the space between them and tipped her chin up, capturing her eyes. "Show me."

"Yes."

Gwen moved to the computer and her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. A soft mechanical hum rose and the center drawer slid open, revealing Ianto.

Ianto leaned up on his arm, beating a fist against the glass coffin. "Help me," he screamed. "Oh, God, get me out."

"He's alive," George cried out, scrambling to the coffin and trying to find a release catch to free the frantic man inside.

Gwen's hands moved over the keys again and the coffin lid and walls vanished into the platform.

Ianto tried to sit up, but a year's inactivity had taken its toll on him, leaving him weak and dizzy. George rushed to help support him, wrapping his arm around Ianto's waist to steady him. "It's all right, now. I've got you."

Ianto's hands rested on George's chest. His eyes filled with sadness and he murmured, "I', so very sorry."

George had no time to wonder what he meant. Ianto moved with the deadly speed of a cobra, latching onto George's neck and gulping down the man's blood before anyone could react to what was happening.

Mitchell was the first to get his mind around the horror being acted out before them. He sprang forward, wrenching George from Ianto's deadly embrace. Too late, he realized. George hung limply in his arms his breath stuttering in his throat.

Seeing what he had done, Ianto's expression was one of absolute horror. Tears slipped down his pale cheeks. "Oh, God....What have I done? What have I done? He looked to Mitchell. "Do something. Please, save him. Please...."

Mitchell fell to his knees, George still in his arms. "Forgive me," he whispered then ripped open his wrist with his fangs, pressing the open wound to George's lips.

George drank greedily, clutching Mitchell's wrist in a death's grip as his strength returned.

Mitchell felt suddenly light headed with the loss of his blood. "Enough" He croaked, wrenching his wrist away. "Sleep, now, my love. I'll be here when you awake." He bent low over George and brushed a gentle kiss on his bloodless lips.

Smiling, George managed a soft, "Love you, Mitchell." before he stopped fighting the sleep drifting like a grey fog over him.

Mitchell rose gracefully with George in his arms. He tenderly laid his lover on crypt platform where Ianto had slept for three hundred and sixty-five days.. That done, he turned to Ianto. "Now, newborn, we have much to discuss. Will you agree to live in peace with the humans?"

Ianto wiped tears from his cheeks, smearing his face with George's blood in the process. "I don't want to kill."

Mitchell smiled, nodding. "Looks like it..." He leaned forward and licked Ianto's face clean.

Ianto's mouth fell open, gaping in surprise.

When he was satisfied that Ianto was once more immaculate, MItchell pulled back and tilted his head. "You are a pretty bit, aren't you. Make a new father proud." He laughed softly. "Who turned you, newborn?"

"Turned me?" Ianto shook his head. "No. No one. No person, anyway."

Mitchell's brow puckered and his eyes narrowed a bit, studying the newborn. "You don't remember your creator?"

"The virus," Gwen blurted out, shaking free from the stunned disbelief that had held her quiet through this waking nightmare till now. "Ianto died in the 456 attack when the aliens released a virus on the building he was in." Her gaze swept the three strangers. "Who...what...are you?"

"Mythology." Mitchell told her with a lazy shrug. "Folklore....The stuff of nightmares...take your pick."

"I remember the 456 thing," Annie said softly. "Happened at the same time Eric came after us."

Mitchell nodded. "Ah, them....Losing a few kids didn't seem so important with the vampires rising up in Bristol, did it?"

"Vampires...?"

"Mmmm. Planned to turn the entire human race...well, they were leaving a few for food, but...Annie went all vengeful spirit over the brood. And George went lycan and took out their leader. They've been laying low since." Mitchell turned his attention back to Ianto and smiled reassuringly. "So... no Sire. Is this virus in danger of turning more?"

Gwen shook her head. "I hacked Disease Control's computers to find out what was turning up in the rest of the dead. The autopsy reports seemed to point to the virus running its course in a week, then dying in the host body."

"So..." Ianto's voice was shaky. "Why is this happening to me?"

"Ianto, the bodies of the other victims were cremated within days after they died." Gwen said softly. "Its likely the virus mutated in your body, changing you as it did."

"Jack..." Ianto rasped,his breathing speeding up in panic. "Where's Jack?" His eyes flew about the crypt. "I want Jack...." Tears tracked his cheeks. "I ...need Jack."

Mitchell turned to Gwen, once more hearing her words. "Jack left the country."

Ianto blanched, his eyes seeking out Gwen's confirmation. "He's gone?"

Gwen moved closer, but Ianto cringed away and she stopped walking. "Jack was in a bad way after he...lost you. He said that the entire planet was a graveyard. He ..I asked him to stay, but...I wasn't enough. I begged him to return. He asked me what for. He ....he loved you Ianto. He couldn't live here without you." she shrugged. "He left."

"Is that supposed to make it all right?" Ianto gave a wild laugh. "Why am I surprised? It's what he does, isn't it? He leaves." His body suddenly went weak and he slid to the floor. "He always leaves."

Ianto's words reached into Gwen's soul and broke her heart. She moved quickly, dropping down beside him and wrapping her arms around him.

Ianto cringed a bit but she held on, caressing his back and murmuring words of support.

"Don't," Ianto whispered, fear rolling through hin and carrying on that single word.

"What's going on in there, Ianto?" She brushed a finger against Ianto's temple, drawing back slightly. "Why are you afraid of me?'

He lifted haunted eyes toward the slab where George lie. "Not afraid of you, Gwen. For you."

She followed his gaze. "You wouldn't hurt me, Ianto." Her smile warmed him. "You silly thing, you love me."

A smile tugged at Ianto's lips, growing into a low chuckle. "Silly thing?" His brow arched a bit. "I know you did not just say that."

tongue-in-cheek, Gwen smiled. "You can't deny it."

Ianto sighed, dropping his forehead to hers. "Love is highly over rated."

"Ianto..."

"It's okay, Gwen," Ianto said pushing himself away and to his feet. "I was stupid, falling in love with him. I knew Jack wasn't able to love me back. Not in his nature. Have only myself for getting hurt. He tried to let me know I was taking the whole relationship thing to seriously." He gave bitter laugh. "He got skittish every time I mentioned the word couple. Should have known...." his words dwindled off.

"So now what? I'm a vampire? Is that right?" He looked to Mitchell for an answer.

Mitchell threw a glance at Annie before he nodded. "I can teach you to keep your humanity, if that is what you want."

"Or I could walk out into the sun and end it all."

"You're welcome to try." Mitchell said through a dry chuckle. "For all the good it will do. You take too much for reality, you do."

Annie added. "Mitchell actually likes the occasional day in the sun." She wandered ove to the platform where George lay and took his cold hand in hers. "How long before he ...wakes, do you think?"

Mitchell pursed his lips, considering his friend's body. "Hard to tell. I think he may be the first lycan ever turned. Mostly my kind like to beat and drain 'em. Natural enemies competing for prey."

"Lycan?" Gwen stared at the pale young man...creature who lie in Ianto's crypt. "Are seriously saying this man is a...werewolf?" She turned her curious gaze on Annie. "I suppose you're some kind of succubus or something."

"A ghost, actually." Mitchell tossed at her, his eyes narrow. "We have a house in Bristol."

Gwen shook her head, "I must be going mad."

Ianto shrugged. "What? You can accept weevils and aliens and all the fucked up things we deal with on a day to day but a little supernatural tosses you into a tailspin."

"Point taken." She was struck by the enormity of what these creatures actually were and wondered if she should order in a stock of crosses and silver bullets, but figured if she was in any danger from them, she'd be dead already. All she felt from them was mild amusement, and a deep desire to help Ianto through the changes he was going through. "So, a ghost, a werewolf and a vampire take up house-keeping? Sounds like a fairy tale."

"Complete with the big bad ...vampire out to rule the world as nemisis," Annie grumbled. "Not so romantic as we would have hoped." She lifted on shoulder, grinning at Mitchell, "But we take care of each other. That's what counts."

"Yeah," Ianto whispered, "Until someone leaves."

"Ianto...."

"So, Gwen," Ianto cut her off, moving to one of the computers. His fingers click click clicked over the keys, bringing up...access denied. "I'm locked out."

"Jack did that before he left."

Ianto tilted his head toward Gwen, questions burning in his eyes.

"He shut us down, Ianto. Said no one else was going to die for Torchwood if he could help it. Only reason I'm still here is because he needed a custodian to keep things running smooth. Someone to make sure Janet and the rest in the cells were cared for. To make sure the systems were kept up, and no one managed to get inside the confidential areas."

Ianto didn't need to think on long that. Jack had been worried about Gwen dying and leaving behind her child. He'd always tried to make sure her life with Rhys was strong and protected. Of course he would take steps to keep her safe after he had left.

"How is your child? Boy? Girl?" he asked suddenly.

Gwen beamed, "Would you believe one of each?"

Ianto chuckled. "Rhys must be over the moon." He moved across the room and clasped her hands in his. "I don't want you to take this wrong, but jack was right. Torchwood is closed for business. You should go home and take care of those sweet wee ones and that man of yours. I can handle the maintenance here now."

"But..."

He silenced her with a finger across her lips. "Think about it, Gwen. You have a life. Me, I have..." He swept his arm about the room. "Well, I have this." His gaze gave nothing away. "Go home to your family, Gwen."

Helpless against his soft spoken words that seemed almost as mesmerizing as Mitchell's had been before, she nodded.

"What about Stephen? He needs someone to take care of him."

"Jack's grandson? He's here?"

Another nod. "He can't seem to stay dead any better than Jack could."

"He died?"

"Saving the children." Gwen said, leaving out the fact that jack had used him to broadcast the signal that destroyed the 456, and Stephen.

Ianto knew there was something dark in the evasive way Gwen glossed her explanation over. He chose to let the rest of the story go. For now.

"His Mother? Alice, wasn't it? Why doesn't she have the boy?"

"She died a month after the attack. She didn't have Jack's restorative genes." Gwen told him. "Jack left before Stephen revived. A week before. Stephen was dead for six and a half months."

"And you've been caring for him ever since."

"What else could I do?"

"Thank you, Gwen." Ianto whispered. "But it should be me taking care of the boy. I was Jack's ...family. I ...I want to take the boy."

"Are you sure?"

He laughed softly, the sound carrying the tinkle of broken glass. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure. Jack would have wanted it that way."

Gwen reached out a hand towards him but he stopped her with a look.

"Please, not now. I know.....but ....not now." His lips turned up into a brittle smile. "Let's go meet my...son, okay? I always wanted to be a...father, did I ever tell you that?"

A dark frown drew Gwen's brows together, but she simply gave him a quick nod. "Okay. Got it. Stephen is in the tourist shop."

 

Later

Ianto glanced over at the young boy sprawled out in the swivel chair at what used to be Tosh's station. And found the boy's watchful gaze stabbing into him.

"You my granddad's whore?"

Ianto froze, his hands suddenly shaking. The dimmly lit room blurred as tears filled his eyes. He blinked rapidly, fighting them off and bit down hard on his lip. A rush of blood filled his mouth and he swallowed it down, then ran his tongue over the pulsing wound "No," he managed after swallowing past the tightness of his throat.

Stephen tilted his head slightly, tongue-in-cheek. "I think you're lying, mate."

Sighing, Ianto turned his attention toward a near-by computer. "You are welcome to think what you want, Stephen. I won't argue the point with you."

Annie ambled into the room, pausing at the door as the tension slammed into her. Drawing a deep breath she no longer really needed, she padded over to stand by Ianto. he curious gaze wandered over the words that flashed at a lightening speed over the monitor. "What are you doing, Ianto?" she asked finally.

"Jack locked Gwen out of the secured areas of Torchwood," he told her, not looking up. "I can only imagine he wanted to keep her safe. Too much death already. Humans are fragile. Should have left this sort of work to people like me, like Jack. People who don't die easy." He gave a sudden bark of laughter. "I'm in."

Around them there was a deeper droning hum as Torchwood powered up, the system coming to life. He went back to work, digging deeper into the files. "Jack gave me everything I need to access Torchwood finances. Guess he wanted to know that if anything ever happened to him that I would be able to carry on."

"What are you doing, now?"

"Someone has been making inquiries about buying up the Torchwood complex." He pointed to some figures as if that explained it all, then quickly input some more data. "I'm creating a dummy corporation....Using the moneyJack squirreled away to buy the land for a couple miles around the complex." He said softly.

"You can do that? From here?"

"With the knowledge and enough money a good hacker can just about do anything they might imagine. Jack left me more money than even Torchwood could spend in a thousand years."

"Okay, so you buy the land, then what?"

"Gonna rebuild. May not have the rift manipulator anymore, but that isn't going to stop the bad things coming through. When they come, I'm going to send them back to hell."

"Want some help with that, newborn?"

Ianto turned from what he was doing to see Mitchell and George wandering into the room, grinning. "Seems like you all fit the first requirement for hiring on, so what the hell? Why not?"

 

Dawn  
The Tourist Shop

George found Ianto brooding alone in the tourist shop, standing before te large window and staring at the rising sun. "How are you holding up, Ianto?" George asked, coming to stand next to the taller man. "Checking out the sun can't kill ya after all?"

"I miss him." Ianto raked a hand through his dark hair and George couldn't help but notice how it trembled. "I died. I ...Died. And... he left. And now I'm alive. And he's gone." His eyes drifted shut, hoding in the agony of Jack's desertion. "He's gone."

George held his tongue, waiting.

"I know it seems crazy to the rest of you. To Gwen and Stephen, Jack's been gone six months. But to me. To me, I died yesterday, in his arms. And today I wake up alone." he laughed bitterly. "I want to crawl back into the crypt and close the thing up. I want the darkness. I want...I'm so bleeding pissed off I want to tear him limb from limb for going away"

George gathered him in his arms, letting Ianto cry against his shoulder.

 

In the year of our god 2509  
Three AM.

The hour of the dead.

The witching hour.

His hour.

He padded across the roof on silent feet, stopping with the tips of his shoes protruding an inch or so over the edge of the fifteen story building. His lips held the spectre of a dark smile as he surveyed his city.

The towering building, his building, had been built over the five hundred years gone Torchwood Complex two years after the bombing that had destroyed it. His birthright. Or rather, his rebirth-right.

His lips twitched at his silent joke. No more than a mere twitch that could well have been mistaken as an illusion of darkness and shadow.

He drew a deep breath, clasping his hands behind his back and let his gaze pan over the spectacular vision of Cardiff in the early hours. It was a city where the lights never went out. Where people never slept. Where you could hide in plain sight and never be discovered over a hundred lifetimes.

After all, that was exactly what he and his clan had done, wasn't it? Lived several hundred years and counting. Truth to tell, on his last birthday, he had turned 525 years old. Considering he had not aged a day past 25, he was quite satisfied by that quite remarkable fact.

He tilted his head slightly, picking out the soft erotic moans of a pair of young lovers in the park two blocks to his left. The music of a pub several blocks away shuffled into his range of hearing as he continued to listen.

A frown tugged at his dark brows suddenly. His sharp hearing had picked up the rough and rowdy hoots of a gang of bully boys heading towards the exclusive club housed on the main floor of his building.

He swept the area, spotting the burly band several blocks down. They were indeed heading toward the club. And from their words he had no doubt that they intended no good.

He tensed, coiling his body as if to leap from the roof, stopping as the front door burst open far below and two men exited in a passionate clasping of bodies, spinning to a stop against the rough hewn door.

His lips twitched again, this time into a dark smile. Mitchell and George, his lieutenants, were aware of the approaching problem and very much capable of handling the mob of a dozen or so miscreants.

 

3 A.M.  
Across the street from Torchwood

He'd come home. Or what had at one time been home. A place of family. Of friends. Of a love that would never end. That haunting, still burning love for a man he had lead to his death.

The door of the club standing like the dark Gothic castle it replicated sudden;y slammed open, spewing out a couple locked in a torrid embrace. Once, many years past, he would have been hard put not to cross the street and charm his way into that heated embrace.

But that was five or six life times ago. His over active libido had withered with his lover's death. He'd sworn he would never forget. And he hadn't. Not in five hundred years. Would not.... Not in five million years. Not as long as memory lived in him. Not while his arms ached to hold that one, that only, lithesome body.

Loud shouts and taunts coming down the street to his left captured his attention and he pulled his gaze away from the couple blissfully unaware of the trouble brewing.

He palmed his Webley and started across the street at a loose-limbed trot.

The couple making out in the doorway of the obviously popular club gave no inclination of ending their games, In fact the smaller, brown haired guy actually popped his taller, dark-haired companion's shirt buttons and playfully began to suckle the guy's nipples to attention.

"Ahhhh, George, baby," the taller guy rasped, holding his lover's head against his chest.

Jack gave pause when a trick of the light made the smaller man's face appear to elongate and distort, seeming to beard up in seconds. He shook his head, putting it down to an adrenalin illusion.

The guttural growls, more animistic than human were a little harder to dismiss, though, but before he could bring his mind to its natural, or supernatural end conclusion, the gang was upon them.

The couple broke apart and moved into the approaching bully boys with a speed that denied their humanity.

Bodies flew from the center of the mob, clearly alive if the moaning and whimpering were any sign, but badly bloodied just the same. A big brute moved in on Jack and he raised his gun to fire.

"No," a voice boomed, floating from above, and then his gun flew from a strangely numb hand. He blinked, knowing there had been no one close enough to disarm him, and yet...His gaze lingered on his gun where it lie a few feet away.

As quickly as the battle had broken out, it ended.

Jack shook himself, breaking out of the amazed spell he'd fallen under. His glance moved to the two men standing in the middle of the bloodied street. His eyes widened at the sight of the man wolf who was wrapping himself into the fanged creature's hungry embrace.

His eyes darted toward his weapon once more. So close. So damn far away.

And yet, it didn't seem like the exotic creatures were taking any interest in him anyway. They were too busy licking the blood off each other.

"You dropped this." The lilting Welsh tones coming from behind him were a soft brush against his soul, so very like the voice of his long gone lover. A hand appeared in front of him, holding the Webley. So familiar, those beautiful slender fingers.

He gripped the weapon in a white knuckled strangle hold.

"Jack..."

He shook his head, knowing he would take that final step into the darkness of his mind when the man at his side proved to be just another familiar voiced stranger.

The creatures, once more appearing quite human, moved toward him, then.

"It's all right. You're safe now." the sandy haired man told him accepting a pair of old fashioned glasses from his lover.

"Safe," Jack gave a bitter laugh, taking a backward step. And found himself in a cradling embrace.

"Jack..."

Hot breath warmed his neck and a sucking kiss had his head reeling.

"Ianto, the man is gonna pass out if your not careful," the dark haired man...vampire...man-creature...teased. "This can't be the Jack Harkness you've been pining over for ever....can it?"

Jack felt himself being turned in strong arms...far stronger than he remembered. He blinked into a face he thought never to see again. "Ianto?"

Ianto cupped his cheeks, smiling darkly. "You took your fine time coming home, didn't you?"

"How...?"

Ianto shrugged, his face instantly a bland mask that was impossible to read. "The virus had some interesting side effects."

"This can't be happening." Jack's hands shook as he laid them on Ianto's chest. Ianto's solid, cold chest. "I've finally gone insane."

"Then we're both insane, Jack," Ianto said, pulling Jack into his hard embrace. His lips crashed down on the stunned man in his arms, releasing all his passion and anger into that one harsh kiss. Keeping control of the embrace, Ianto pushed Jack back a bit and glared into his diamond bright blue eyes. "Are you going to stay, Jack? Or are you going to run away again? Because if you're going to leave again, go now. And don't come back. I need to know I can depend on you to be here when I need you. When Stephen needs you."

"So, what? You still want to be a," Jack did an air brackets motion ""Couple'? Is that it? After five hundred years, you still want that?"

"What do you want, Jack?" Ianto sighed, turning his back on the disheavaled man. "You're the one who came back. So what are you doing here?"

Shoulders slumping, Jack whispered. "You waited. All this time? You waited...for me?"

"Like I told you ...Love you, bastard."

"And I said I would never..could never ...forget you." Jack grabbed his arm and whirled him around,. He captured Ianto's chin, smiling ruefully into his eyes. "Believe me, Ianto. I never could. I love you too damn much. More important, I need you. Need you like I need to breath. Need you to be there when I die and come back. Need to have something...have you...to come back to." A tear slid down his cheek. "I would die if I lost you again. Die in all the important ways, you understand? Die in my heart. In my soul. I...Need.... You."

Ianto's lips brushed Jack's gently, then surged forward once more, devouring him with a need that had never died.

Never would die.

Never could.

 

end for now


End file.
